Certain People Aren't Dead AU

[highinthemiddle]

cont'd from here

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[goddamngrenades]

"M'good, boss. S'just a scratch." Helmet cracked off for the moment so he could breathe- York's eye is unfocused, his expression loose. Glazed. Could be shock, could be medication, could be exhaustion but it's all tangling together in one big searing ache at his gut that won't go away, an itch on his nose he can't scratch, and a vague notion that he's supposed to be gearing up for spiral.

"Just. Gotta get used to the left side. We can work through it, right D?" And that's- a little more and a little less than delusions. A little more in that he actually hears, not remembers, hears, some kind of response. Lingering echos of the digital mind that lived alongside his for so long. A little less in that it's quiet, detached. Reciting lines from memory rather than performing in full. There's a job, he'll get it done. Needs to-

Levering himself up is painful, but he tries. Can't look like a sad sack.

Can't let them knock him down a few rankings but this isn't-

The pain locks him back to this moment. To the silence in his skull and the silver armor next to his and-

"...any luck finding a surgeon?" Like he didn't just have some kind of flashback to the fucking grenade and the misery afterward.

[highinthemiddle]

Boss. The boys call him that sometimes, but hearing it out of York (seriously out of York, not even a joke) means he's not all together. So does talking to D.

Ohio remembers. The taste of blood in his mouth, almost unable to think from pain, choking out Pi's name because he needs her and of course she's there and it's the only thing that makes sense-

York tries to push himself up, and it seems to snap him out of it. Ohio doesn't have to field this for the moment, and that's good because he's not sure how.

Maybe he should. Maybe not now, but... well. Ohio knows what it is to be left alone in that.

It wasn't good.

"Yeah," is what he says for now. He found a surgeon. They have help. Things are going to be okay.

"She's bringing something to move you on." One doesn't do surgery in strange peoples' shuttles for a number of reasons.

Ohio's posture straightens just a little, then, and something sly creeps back into his voice as he adds: "Good news. She'll take part of it in guns."

Mission fucking accomplished, team.

[goddamngrenades]

"Oh yay. Gurney surfing." Locked halfway between slumping on the pillows and being upright sucks, so he picks an option- pulling himself upright to lean against the headboard instead, panting with the effort. Fuck. Yeah. He sat up.

Go team.

Of course the payment option twists a pained, laugh out of him- something cut off and ragged, raw and wounded until he sucks in a sharp breath to steady himself. "Don't- don't be funny. It'll be a trial but don't. Be funny."

A moment, two, maybe five? Before he asks:

"How are the boys?" They weren't shot, sure- but seeing a guy on your team take a hard hit? Seeing a Freelancer down? Morale might get low.